


for the sake of argument

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles in a Wheelchair, First Dates, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: “He’s speaking at Rutgers on Friday, you know,” Emma said. “You could take it up with him then.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by [this post](http://clickthefrog.tumblr.com/post/151469011489/thetendershark-blktauna).

Erik knew who Professor Charles Xavier was, of course. Everyone in his circle did. He was one of the most influential researchers of the X-gene, and the author of many papers Erik had printed out, photocopied, and highlighted over the years, passing them out to his compatriots and lecturing on them as if he himself had authored them. 

Lately, however, Professor Xavier’s papers had taken on a different tone, one Erik didn’t think he much agreed with, and rumor had it that the latest issue of _Time_ would contain one of his essays expounding on his latest conclusions. Erik was, admittedly, excited about it.

Until he read the essay.

“This is nonsense,” he fumed to Emma as he slapped the magazine down on the cafe table. She looked up at him calmly, almost bored. Erik continued, undiminished. “The unbelievable gall of him, saying we can convince humans to live with us, that we should _beg_ them to—”

“He’s speaking at Rutgers on Friday, you know,” she said. “You could take it up with him then.”

“Hmph.” Erik stopped mid-rant. “Fine. I will.”

Emma smirked. 

“Come with me,” he told her. 

She raised a brow, and shrugged, considering. “All right, sugar. I think I’d like to you red-faced and apoplectic in an academic setting for once.”

\-------

Erik had no real idea what Charles Xavier looked like. He might be old, he might be young, he might be thin, he might be fat. For whatever reason, there was no author photo with his _Time_ essay. Erik knew little about Xavier other than his education and his work. It didn’t matter—he was wrong, and he deserved to know it.

On Friday, Erik sat in the lecture hall next to Emma, a bit agitated, to the point where she warned him that if he didn’t stop tapping his pen she was going to make him throw it across the room. Professor Xavier apparently hadn’t arrived—there were some people down at the podium, a tall man with glasses, a shorter blond man, and a brown-haired man in a wheelchair, but no one who looked like a professor. 

The tall man and the blond man left the podium area at the time the lecture was supposed to begin; as everyone settled in, the light over the podium shone brighter, and the man in the wheelchair rolled up next to it, smiling at them all. That was when Erik realized the man in the wheelchair was Charles Xavier. Next to him, Emma snickered quietly.

Erik sat very still, leaning forward as a smiling, gracious, charming Professor Charles Xavier introduced himself and summarized his career and areas of study, and the publications he’d been featured in. Knowing all of this already, Erik just stared at him. 

Professor Charles Xavier was about Erik’s age, with shiny, artfully mussed brown hair that curled at the ends, very blue eyes, and soft-looking pink lips. From where he was sitting, Erik wasn’t positive, but he seemed to have light stubble. He wore a crisp white button-up shirt under a gray tweed blazer, the buttons undone over the hollow of his throat, and khakis and chukkas. His manner of sitting in his chair was easy and natural, yet poised, with the sort of self-possession and confidence common to the wealthy. His voice, with a gentle English accent, was mellifluous, and he was clearly comfortable with speaking and explaining his viewpoints.

Emma snickered again, breaking Erik’s concentration. “ _Now_ you’re quiet and still,” she whispered.

Erik ignored her—Charles, a skilled orator, was building up his case for the position he’d taken in the _Time_ piece, and Erik didn’t want to miss any of it. How would Charles justify this ridiculousness in person?

\-------

“And that is how I arrived at this current position. Questions?” Charles asked brightly, looking around at them, open and friendly. “I know there are some out there—I can sense them. As you know, I’m a telepath,” he teased gently. The audience chuckled, sounding a bit nervous. “Have no fear, everyone, I’m not reading any of you closely at all.”

“Telepath,” hmph, Erik thought. Charles was one of the most powerful known mutants in the world, even more powerful than Emma. His modesty somehow seemed like bragging. Erik frowned, and raised his hand.

“Yes?” Those big, very blue eyes turned on him, and Erik felt the weight of the full, attentive regard of Professor Charles Xavier, omega-level telepath, holder of multiple advanced degrees, and all-around genius.

Erik drew a breath, raising his chin, sitting up taller even though Emma usually made fun of him for his perfect posture as it was.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “How is it that you can justify your appeasement stance given the atrocities that have been committed around the world against mutants by both government and private entities?”

Charles blinked, and raised a brow, tilting his head. “I don’t see it as justification or as appeasement. I simply feel there’s opportunity here to persuade humans and mutants to live together cooperatively.”

“You can’t excuse what they’ve done to us!”

“I have no intention of excusing anything.” Charles’ tone was cooler now, but still calm.

“You are,” Erik insisted. “Our people have been tortured, killed, and you want us to look the other way and move on.” Erik realized he was standing up, and that the rest of the room was completely silent.

Charles raised a hand, a calming gesture. “Nothing of the sort, my friend. I only feel that vengeance will breed more violence against us, sending us all into a downward spiral from which we may not recover.”

“It’s not vengeance, it’s justice!” Erik shouted, slamming his hands on the desk. The silence after that was a shocked one.

Emma whispered, “Oooh, sugar—he _likes_ you.”

Erik could feel how hot with anger his face was at he stared at Charles, who was looking back at him with infuriating compassion. There was some color in his cheeks now, too, and he swallowed; Erik couldn’t help watching the bob of his adam’s apple. The silence seemed to stretch on.

“What is your name?” Charles asked.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik replied, standing fully, folding his arms as he stared down at Charles.

Charles smiled. “And what is your mutation, Erik?”

In response, Erik rolled Charles’ chair slightly forward, slowly, and drew his pen from the pocket of his blazer, floating it in the air. Charles’ smile widened; he looked genuinely impressed and pleased. Erik fought the urge to preen under his approval.

“Metallokinesis,” Charles said, and Erik nodded, returning the pen to his pocket. “Wonderful.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Erik said.

“Not at all. I simply wanted to understand you better,” Charles answered.

 _He wants to ‘understand’ you right into bed_ , Emma told him. _That’s loud and clear, believe me_.

Not expecting that, Erik swayed on his feet slightly. He wondered if Charles, being a telepath, caught Emma’s sidebar. His little smirk just then didn’t make Erik feel very assured, but it could just be coincidence. “Then understand that I place mutant defense first and foremost. If that takes the form of offense, striking first, then so be it. We know what humans do, how they react. There’s no need to give them a chance to harm us.”

“I’m not suggesting that we do. Erik, there are other questions I’d like to get to, so I’ll ask you to pause our conversation and wait here until after I’m finished speaking here today—I’d like to discuss this matter further with you.”

 _Over dinner_ , Emma interjected to Erik.

“Shut up,” he muttered to her.

 _He’s going to ask you to dinner. I’m just warning you so you’ll be ready. He’s absolutely smitten with you, Erik_. She chuckled. _Poor bastard_. “I am glad I went with you to this,” she remarked aloud. “That was hilarious.”

“I’m glad you find our struggle funny,” Erik answered sourly.

“I take humor where I can find it,” she replied. “And it’s not ‘the struggle’ I find funny, and you know it.”

“Be quiet. I want to listen,” Erik said, as Charles began to answer someone else’s question.

 _I’m sure you do_. But she did keep quiet as Erik listened to Charles describe what it was like to come online as a mutant at an unusually young age. It was, admittedly, fascinating.

Once Charles was finally done holding court, and the audience had mostly filed out, Erik walked the short distance down to the podium, Emma staying where she was. Charles was smiling at him, attention focused entirely on him, and Erik absolutely did not have any sort of physical reaction to that. Yes, he was even better looking close up. Erik was glad Emma had taught him reasonably good shielding.

“Erik,” Charles said. “I’m so glad you stayed.” Damn him, he even smelled good. “I must say, I’m curious—how familiar are you with my work?” He tilted his head.

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever published,” Erik said without hesitation.

Charles blinked. The tips of his ears were pink. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “And yet you seemed to feel I was willing to sacrifice our safety as mutants.”

“You are.”

“I assure you I’m not.” Charles sat back, and regarded him. “Erik, I wonder if you aren’t free for dinner tonight. I’d like to discuss things further with you in a... more relaxed setting.”

Erik could feel Emma’s metal nail file moving and the _scrit-t-t-chhh_ of it over her nails. She knew the sensation annoyed him. _He’s thinking about what you must look like naked, and imagining you riding him. Not that you deserve it, but I highly recommend sex with a telepath if you ever have the opportunity—_ Erik lifted the file from her fingers and dropped it to the floor. He refused to wince at her brief psychic blast of annoyance as she bent to reach it. 

“I am free,” Erik said tersely to Charles.

Charles smiled, warm. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been told there’s a lovely place not far from here with an odd little name, The Frog and the Peach, and I’ve reserved a table for myself. I’d be delighted if you’d join me. Eight o’clock?”

“I’d like that,” Erik said, and swallowed. The Frog and the Peach was fine dining, candles and white tablecloths and square plates with tiny towers of food accompanied by drizzles of sauce.

“I look forward to it.” Charles’ smile was still warm, but now a little intimate. 

Erik nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you then.” As casually as he could, wanting to seem detached and aloof (which he was, of course), he turned to walk back to Emma.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles added. Erik turned. “Give your telepath friend my regards. She’s very astute, most impressive.” Since Charles could, of course, give his own regards to Emma, this was meant to let Erik know that Charles knew, more or less, what she’d seen in Charles’ mind and that she’d told Erik. 

“I will,” Erik muttered, turning to give her a glare. She beamed sunnily back at him, and tipped a salute to Charles.

“I like him,” she remarked, as she stood, taking Erik’s arm.

\-------

When Erik arrived at The Frog and the Peach, Charles was already at his table, smile widening as Erik approached. Wanting to retain some measure of dignity, Erik tried not to smile back as he sat down, but ultimately couldn’t help it. Face to face, at eye level in candlelight, Charles was devastating, Erik couldn’t help but observe—to himself.

But he was still wrong, Erik reminded himself.

“Hello, Erik.” There was that attention focused on him again. Erik fought the sudden urge to look down, and kept Charles’ gaze. 

“Hello, Charles.”

“I’d like to thank you for attending my lecture today, and for your discussion. I always enjoy a spirited exchange of ideas.” Charles took a drink of wine, tongue darting out to sweep up the last traces of it on his lower lip, seemingly absently for all it threatened to distract Erik. 

“Was that what that was?” Erik asked. “Lives are at stake. It’s not a mere academic exercise for me, Charles.”

“Of course not,” Charles said. “My life’s work has been toward a better understanding of mutants and how we can survive.”

“More than merely survive,” Erik said. “We must thrive. We’re the next stage in evolution, you said so yourself.”

“I did,” Charles agreed. “And we are. That doesn’t imply we need to exterminate everyone else.”

“We may have to if they try it on us first. And they will.” Erik realized he was getting somewhat agitated when his silverware started to rattle. 

Charles looked at it with interest, a brow cocked as he met Erik’s gaze again. “Does that happen often for you?”

“Sometimes,” Erik gritted out. “I’m usually quite well controlled.”

“Can you feel all the metal in here?” Charles asked, lowering his voice, sounding very curious.

“Ferrous metal, yes. Steel, iron. Trace metals in people’s bloodstreams.”

“So the silverware, and...?”

“Yes, the steel cores. A lot of the cookware, not so much the copper or aluminum.” Erik closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the hum of the magnetized metal around him. He could draw it all to him if he wanted…. He didn’t, but he could.

“Can you feel it being heated, over the hobs and in the ovens?” Charles’ voice dropped even lower. He sounded fascinated.

Erik swallowed. “Yes.” Throat dry, he opened his eyes to see where his glass of water was, and took a long drink. Charles was smiling at him.

“May I…?” Charles asked, gesturing to his own temple. “I’m sorry, I’d love to feel what that’s like for you.”

Emma had never asked him anything like that. Surprised, Erik nodded. Then he felt the strange shivery sensation of another mind entering his own, and tried to focus on the iron and steel in the kitchen, being heated and moved around, in the chaotic symphony that was a busy kitchen. He felt Charles feeling it through him, and it left him somewhat breathless.

“Oh, yes—how lovely,” Charles observed, half to himself, voice almost a purr as he looked into Erik’s eyes.

It was then the waiter showed up to take their orders.

Erik hastily took another drink of water as Charles withdrew smoothly from his mind to address the waiter. Feeling flushed, he had to gather his wits to place his order. He felt almost as if he’d just had sex in public, which was absurd given how brief that had been. After the waiter departed, Charles winked at him.

“What did you just do to me?” Erik muttered.

“Oh, that was nothing, my friend,” Charles sat back a bit, smile a little smug as he regarded Erik. “Merely a dip into your mind. As a telepath, I’m capable of quite a few things I believe you’ll find enjoyable.”

“Emma said you’d try to get me into bed. Is that how you think you’ll change my mind to agree with you?”

“No. And I won’t literally change your mind, either, that I promise. No, I simply find your passion stimulating, Erik.”

“I’m not a mere amusement for you,” Erik told him flatly.

“Of course not. I would never reduce you to that. You’re extraordinary.”

Erik waved a hand in dismissal. “Flattery.”

Charles laughed. “You’re a tough nut to crack. No, it’s not mere flattery. It’s true. Don’t you think a telepath would know a thing or two about that?”

Erik’s wine arrived and he took a sip gratefully. “After me for my mind, then?” 

Charles laughed softly. “You could say that. The entire package is not too shabby, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Erik just smiled, even as he was annoyed with himself over it. This was still the wrongheaded Professor Charles Xavier, after all.

The meal was, of course, incredible. Erik was amazed to find himself wanting to rush through it, to get to whatever Charles had planned next. Not that he’d agree to it, of course.

He was still surprised when Charles set down his dessert fork, looked up at him, and said, “Right. Would you like to come back to mine and play chess?”

Erik blinked. “Chess? Is that what you call it?”

“Actual chess,” Charles said, chuckling.

“Actual chess,” Erik mused, and finished off his wine. “Yes. I’ll play actual chess with you, Charles.”

\-------

Charles’ hotel suite was sumptuous and enormous, of course. He didn’t live that far away—in Westchester County, just north of the city—but he’d opted not to go home tonight, he explained, since the drive was an hour and a half, and he’d rather sleep. “Or play chess,” he added, with a smile.

“How did you know I play?” Erik asked, taking a seat at the table where Charles’ board was set up. “And why do you bring a chess set with you on trips?”

“Would you believe a lucky guess or a quick glance into your mind?” Charles responded. “If you didn’t play I’d have offered to teach you—you’d be too good a partner to pass up, and I enjoy teaching. And I have the set with me because Hank, my TA, and I play sometimes, when we have a moment or two.”

“Oh?” Erik raised a brow. “Actual chess?”

Charles laughed. “Actual chess only, most definitely.” He poured them both some brandy.

The chess pieces had steel trim, and Erik took some pleasure in moving the pieces while sitting back in his chair—Charles kept biting back a broad smile every time he did it. Erik found himself nearly distracted by wanting to elicit that little grin of delight.

They played and talked for several hours, so that it was after midnight when Charles paused and looked up at him, waiting a beat before asking, “Erik, would you like to stay the night?”

“It seems I already am,” Erik replied. 

Another soft chuckle. “I’ve been wanting to touch you,” Charles admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about it. We haven’t even shaken hands.”

Over the table, Erik reached a hand out to him, grinning. Charles took it in a strong, assured grip, fingertips gliding along Erik’s palm as he released him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Charles. Now, take me to bed.”

\-------

Erik woke up in pale morning light, ensconced in soft, luxurious high-thread-count sheets and surrounded with plush pillows. The bed, modified to be low to the floor so as to accommodate wheelchair users, was as sumptuous as the rest of the room, broad and well cushioned. Erik was naked, on his stomach, and suddenly aware that Charles’ fingertips were tracing over his shoulder blades. He turned to face Charles, who was smiling, still without his shirt and flushed with sleep, eyes almost glowing in the early light.

“Good morning, Erik.”

In response, Erik shifted closer and kissed him. It was too early for thinking and talking, and Erik just _wanted_. 

Charles responded immediately, tongue parting Erik’s lips and fingers going into his hair. He hummed into the kiss, and after some time, when Erik started shifting restlessly, breathing harder, Charles’ hand trailed down Erik’s front to wrap around his aching cock, drawing a gasp from him. Charles hummed again, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tip of Erik’s cock, and giving him a squeezing stroke. 

He brought Erik off with almost embarrassing speed, his mind dipping into Erik’s to draw from his pleasure and then turn that back on itself and feed it back to Erik, until he was almost overwhelmed. (Emma had been right about sex with telepaths, at least when it came to Charles.) Then Charles drew from that for his own enjoyment, and when Erik opened his eyes, Charles looked beautifully wrecked, just as he had several hours earlier.

“If you wanted to change my mind,” Erik said, surprised at how breathless and raspy his own voice was, “that would have been the time to do it.”

“I don’t want to change your mind.” Charles smiled, and bit his lip. “I think I’m quite fond of it the way it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fired this off quickly this weekend because I'd prompted this scenario for Secret Mutant 2016 and the idea (although not a very unique one!) just wouldn't leave me.


End file.
